Oranges And Gingerbread Men
by macisgate
Summary: You need hope, Patrick. More than I can give you by myself.


Oranges and Gingerbread Men

Rated: Gish

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist. Unless you count my DVD boxed sets.

Summary: You need hope, Patrick. More than I can give you by myself.

A/N: So I actually wrote this last year, but ended up with a different Christmas story that I posted called "Silent Night, Scarlet Night". But I decided to go ahead and post this even if Christmas is a couple days past. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Christine

Ooo

The porch steps creaked as Jane shifted from the cold air, shoving his hands under his arms in a futile attempt to stay warm. He stood when a woman's footsteps sounded closer and closer.

"Took you long enough," he called out to warn Lisbon of his presence at her home.

Lisbon kept her hands in her pockets and smirked. "You didn't just let yourself in? Now there's a Christmas miracle." She huffed and her breath steamed the air around them.

"More like I didn't want you to kick me out when you realized I'd picked your locks. Or shoot me."

They both stepped up to the door while Lisbon used her key to open the door properly.

"You know you could have just come to church with me. The service was beautiful. And heated."

Now it was Jane's turn to smirk as he motioned for Lisbon to enter first and closed the door behind them. "While I appreciated your kind offer, my dear, I know you just did it toget me out of my attic."

"You know I don't like it when you stay up there. Especially on Christmas Eve. No one should be alone on Christmas."

Lisbon started to take off her coat, and Jane stepped behind her to lift it from her shoulders instead. He paused and grasped her shoulders gently. "I'm sorry I didn't go with you. It really was a kind offer."

She nodded her acceptance of his apology. "You're here now. I'm glad you changed your mind."

He hung up her coat and hung up his own suit jacket beside it. "I am surprised you wanted to spend Christmas with me. Didn't you want to spend it with your family? I bet Tommy and Annabeth would have loved having you."

He followed her into the tiny kitchen and washed his hands in the sink, the scent of lemon dish soap filled the air. He dried his hands on the dish towel hanging from the oven handle.

Lisbon shrugged and leaned against the counter. "They offered, but..." She looked away from his searching eyes. "Besides, someone had to stay here and make sure you don't turn into a shrivelled up Grinch."

"Very well," he acquiesced. "If it makes you feel better, I can tell you that my heart has grown two sizes already. And I've only been in here five minutes."

"There's a casserole in the fridge," Lisbon indicated for him to take it out while she turned on the oven.

Jane did as he was told and put it into the oven for her. "Smells good. I didn't know you could cook."

"Not really. It's just an easy recipe."

"You don't give yourself enough credit." Jane reopened the fridge and pulled out a large orange, holding it close to his noseand savouring the smell for a long moment before setting out peeling it. "Why is that?"

"You want me to brag about my culinary skills?" she raised her eyebrows.

"Sure. You're a woman of many talents." He handed her half the orange, and they both went into the living room and sat down on the couch together. "Beautiful Christmas tree," he pointed to the corner of the room where a heavily lit tree stood fully decked with carefully themed ornaments. "Gingerbread men. That's cute."

"Figures you'd like it. They're all wearing suits."

Jane smiled back at her. "Okay, I'm a narcissist. So sue me."

The tea kettle boiled from the kitchen, and Jane stopped Lisbon from rising. "Let me. You want tea or hot chocolate?"

She let him figure out the answer instead of audibly telling him.

"Hot chocolate it is. I think I'll have some too. Since it'sChristmas."

He went back to the kitchen and pulled two mugs out of the first cupboard he opened. The box of hot chocolate packets was on the counter already. "You want cream in this?" he called out over his shoulder.

"And marshmallows."

He turned to find her leaning against the kitchen doorwaywatching him.

"Enjoying the view?" he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Maybe," she grinned and joined him. "It's been a while since I've had a man in my kitchen." She pulled the bag of mini marshmallows out of the cupboard in front of him. Shoulder to shoulder, they both emptied packets into their respective mugs, seemingly unaware of how domestic they looked. Jane topped off the steaming cups with marshmallows, but Lisbon took out another handful from the bag and added them to his.

"For heaven's sake, woman. Are you trying to give mediabetes?"

"Once a year won't kill you," she argued.

They moved back to the couch. Lisbon turned on the television and flipped channels until she came to a black and white Christmas movie and turned the volume down.

Jane leaned back against the couch cushions and closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the scent of the cooking casserole filled the room and mixed with the smell of chocolate.

"Why did you want me to go to mass with you tonight, Teresa?" He kept his eyes closed, making her tell him the reason, needingto hear it from her lips and not her eyes.

Lisbon shrugged. "You said it yourself. I didn't want you in that musty old attic over Christmas."

"We could have done anything, gone anywhere to accomplish that. It wasn't just a mindless invitation, Lisbon. You really wanted me to go to church with you. Why?" he tried again.

It took a while, but she finally answered. "You need hope, Patrick," she said softly. "More than I can give you by myself."

He opened his eyes but looked away from her, setting his mug on the coffee table. "Is that what all this is about?"

"What?"

He waved his arm around the room. "The home-cooked meal, the lights, the tree. The decorations are obviously brand new. You even bought oranges for me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she flustered.

"The last time I was here, the fridge was empty except for a gallon of milk and a bottle of ketchup. And the milk was expired."

He bowed his head and scrubbed his face. Darkness overcame him again, just like it had in the attic when she'd first approached him about spending Christmas with her. Christmas. A time when families were supposed to be together. But he would never have a family again. He must have scared her then, hardly able to speak to her, that she would go to all this trouble on the chance that he would change his mind.

He forced himself to open his eyes, to see her through the blackness that crushed his heart. "You don't have to fix me all the time, Lisbon. Saint Teresa is allowed to take a night off."

Lisbon set her own mug down and moved sideways on the couch to face him fully. "You're right. You're not a hopeless cause." She placed her hands on either side of his head, forcing him to make eye contact with her. "You are my friend." She searched his face, willing him to believe her.

Her eyes continued to search him. "Would it really be so bad if I did all this for you? If I actually cared enough about you to want you to be happy?"

The oven timer dinged, but she ignored it. "I know where you're at, Jane. I know what this feels like. When you feel like you have to force yourself to keep breathing and everything around you just feels wrong. But it does get better. It will pass, I promise you. And you'd better darn well like that casserole," she smiled ruefully, "because it's the only one you're going to get until next year."

Slowly, his smile joined hers, his eyes becoming a little less sad.

"Okay?" she asked.

"Okay," he nodded.

"Then come on," she pulled him by the hand. "You can help me set the table."

As she scolded him for putting the forks and knives on the wrong sides of the plates and playfully nudged him out of the way when she brought the casserole dish over to the table, Jane let himself get lost in the moment, let himself pretend that this was real and not just some charade they were playing – a happy couple who didn't know squat about loneliness because they had each other.

Slowly, the darkness melted away, still there, but not overcoming him the way it had before. And when he handed her a small, carefully wrapped box, he was more nervous than he'd ever been about giving a gift before.

She pulled the tiny glass angel out from the tissue paper, letting her eyes water. "It's beautiful."

Jane shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, you know..." That's how I see you, went unsaid.

She squeezed his hand on the table. "I got you something too." She went into the other room and rustled under the tree, pulling out a box almost as small as the one he'd given her.

He tried to read from her face what it was, but, for once he didn't have a clue. His large grin turned to confusion when he opened it. "A key?"

She let him guess the rest.

"A key to... your office? No... It's not a car key, but it's large enough to be... a house key?"

He almost had it.

"Your house key?"

There.

"You're giving me a key to your house?" he asked again in disbelief.

"I'm giving you more than just a key, Jane," was all she said as she stood up and began clearing the table.

He sat for a while before it dawned on him that he should be helping her with the dishes. He joined her at the sink, but the dish towel in his hands didn't get much use as he continued to pause and stare down at the top of her head beside him. By the time she'd finished washing, his side of the sink was still filled with wet dishes. She turned off the water and took the towel from his hands to dry her own.

"Did you figure it out yet?" she wondered.

Figure out that she was giving him access to her sanctuary so that he could have a sanctuary too. So that he could look at the key on his key chain and know that there was a home he could go to at the end of a bad day. That she was giving him her trust, absolute and unconditional. That she truly believed he would not take advantage of the access he'd been granted.

He tugged on the dish towel, pulling her against him, and wrapped his arms around her. She returned his embrace fully, no words needed.

He dug his face into her hair. "Teresa, of course I'd love to be your friend with benefits."

He squeaked and jumped when she pinched him in the ribs, her face turning as red as the Santa on the dish towel. "You're horrible, you know that?"

"What are you going to do? Put me on the naughty list?"

"Like you were ever off it in the first place."

Later that night, Jane felt the throw from the couch being placed gently over him, and cracked his eyes open enough to see a pyjama-clad Lisbon locking the front door and heading for the stairs. She paused at the tree, gently fingering the delicate angel that hung there sparkling against the lights, then continued up to her own bed.

Jane felt through the fabric of his shirt pocket for his key, and, assured that it was still there, fell back into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Ooo

The End

Ooo


End file.
